


The Lethal Temptress

by ArwenLalaith



Series: The Lethal Temptress [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Caning, F/F, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLalaith/pseuds/ArwenLalaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about being responsible for running an entire Interpol office made Emily crave submission. That is where The Woman came in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lethal Temptress

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is set post-season seven, during the time Emily works for Interpol in London and I guess, before The Scandal in Belgravia. It sort of ignores the whole blackmail and treason thing with Irene and focuses just on the fact that she is a dominatrix. This is a universe I could see expanding, so let me know if you think that would be cool or I might assume I am the only one who ships this... Obviously, heavy BDSM themes follow (I admit, I know next to nothing about the subject so I did a crap load of research because I am better than 50 Shades, but in no way am I an expert, so take it with a grain of salt). Enjoy!

 Something about being responsible for running an entire Interpol office made Emily crave submission.

That's not to say that she considered herself dominant in her everyday relationships. She had simply never been one to shy away from letting partners know what she wanted in bed and she had absolutely never apologized for knowing what she wanted. (Not that there had ever been all that many relationships, even before she moved across the ocean and became responsible for facilitating international police cooperation.)

As it was, she had very little time to have an ongoing relationship, not to mention the difficulties that went with being someone of such international importance...it wasn't as if she could go home with just anyone.

Sometimes, a woman just needed release without all the hassle of finding someone who was a decent human being and not going to murder you in your sleep, who was also attractive and not judgmental about liking Vonnegut. Which is where The Woman came in...

Once a month or so – because she had a heavy workload – more, if she'd had a rough case, she'd find herself on Miss Adler's doorstep, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible...not because she was ashamed, she just didn't exactly relish the sort of scandal that might accompany her dalliances becoming public knowledge.

Irene never greeted her at the door. Her assistant Kate was always the one to let Emily in and direct her upstairs where she was to wait. 

* * *

Emily stood waiting in the rather nondescript en-suite bathroom that seemed at odds with the dark room on the other side of the door where people went to be tortured to the point of sexual relief. She was fully clothed, as directed, waiting for her Mistress to arrive and instruct her.

She could hear the slow, purposeful clicking of heels down the hall that signified the arrival of Miss Adler. She kept her eyes cast towards the floor out of respect – she was never to look her Mistress in the eye unless ordered to.

Irene leaned against the door-frame, grinning silkily, running her eyes over the woman standing before her. “Undress,” she ordered conversationally. Emily hesitated just a second or two in complying, but it was a split second too many and it earned her a sharp shout of, “Undress! Now.” Irene brandished the riding crop she held, slapping it lightly against her palm.

Emily's fingers jolted to the buttons on her blouse as a small thrill ran down her spine. Her fingers were careful and deliberate on the buttons, desperate to please. She shrugged the garment off her shoulders and was about to let it fall to the floor.

“Fold it. Neatly.”

Of course, she had been through this process before and knew that she was to fold it, but she enjoyed hearing the commands. Once stripped down to her lingerie (nicer than she usually wore because she tended to make it a practice to dress up for intimate encounters, even if they did involve a dominatrix), she stole a quick glance at her Mistress as she unhooked her bra, attempting to hide her smirk when she noticed the appreciative gaze roving her body.

Once fully unclothed, Emily was ordered to offer up her body for inspection, every detail of her body exposed. Her Mistress's gaze would invariably linger on the scars she had never explained but were obviously a source of self-consciousness, which was the appeal of the exercise. She occasionally had to struggle not to shy away under the intense scrutiny; she had never allowed anyone else to see the scars for fear that they might judge her, both for their ugly appearance and the knowledge that she'd slept (any maybe even loved) the man who'd given them to her. Irene never commented on the scars and Emily wasn't sure whether she'd dug into her background and had some idea of what they were from or whether she genuinely didn't care, content merely with the knowledge that her judgemental glare was enough to make Emily feel vulnerable.

After a supervised shower, she was to kneel on the floor and left alone – sometimes for three minutes, sometimes for twenty – to let the anticipation simmer inside her. She wasn't permitted to move from her position until she was released by having her collar placed around her neck. She had only recently 'earned' her collar and the feeling she got when she wore it was something between shame and pride.

She crawled into the next room on hands and knees when commanded and then offered her wrists up for restraint – padded leather cuffs cinched tight, never handcuffs because the one time her Mistress had tried, Emily had devolved into a minor episode of PTSD and spent most of the session in tears while Irene had dropped her domineering persona and attempted to soothe her.

Today, she was immobilized by a rather elaborate series of restraints which had her bent nearly in half with her arms stretched behind her attached to the ceiling by a length of rope at an angle just shy of pain, but nonetheless quite uncomfortable. Nipple clamps that were also fastened to the floor prevented her from standing up enough to relieve the pressure in her shoulders without creating a worse pain in her nipples. The final impediment to her movement was a spreader bar keeping her legs open and presenting her ass perfectly for the beating to follow.

She couldn't see her Mistress, but knew she was strutting behind her, inspecting her, judging by the sound of her deliberate strides. Not being able to see and predict when the first strike would hit the bare skin of her ass had her body thrumming with delicious anticipation.

The first touch of the riding crop wasn't a harsh smack as Emily expected, but rather a barely-there trail traced down the length of her spine that produced a shuddering breath, part surprise, part eagerness. At this point in their Domme/Sub relationship, her Mistress knew that she didn't always want or require a lot of warm-up, especially considering the fact that there was no one to see any bruises that might be left so there was no reason not to leave marks (and, to be honest, on more than one occasion, Emily had brought herself to orgasm over little more than the marks and the memories of the session that left them).

As the riding crop traced up the back of one thigh, then the other, her Mistress spoke sharply, “Count the strikes.”

Emily started to reply, “Yes, Mistress,” but had barely gotten through the first word when the riding crop was pressed teasingly against her clit. The contact was brief, but it instantly removed all conscious thought from her head.

“What was that?”

Emily inhaled slowly and reminded herself to keep better reign of her senses. “Yes, Mistress,” she managed to finish her sentence.

“Good girl,” Irene cooed, gently stroking Emily's hair before grabbing a fistful and yanking sharply, producing a surprised gasp.

Before she could fully grasp what had just happened, the first blow landed and Emily's eyes flew shut, her head tossing back with a pleased little hum. “One,” she quickly counted the first blow, remembering her instructions. The second blow followed shortly after and she could already feel the skin of her ass flushing hot as blood rushed to the site. “Two.”

By the third blow, she had started panting and biting at her lip, anticipating the next blow signalled by the sound of the crop slicing through the air before the cracking of it against her skin. She dutifully counted off each strike, feeling her thighs grow stickier with each one, and she couldn't help but wonder if she would be allowed to come so quickly or if her Mistress had other plans involving keeping her just shy of reaching her peak for the length of the session.

There was a pause in the whipping and her Mistress gave a small humourless laugh, running two fingers along Emily's pussy, coating them with the heavy wetness there. “You just can't help yourself can you? Getting wet from a few cracks of my whip...such a little slut.”

Somewhere around seventeen, her mind stalled completely and words began to fail her. She wasn't entirely aware she'd stopped counting until the blows stopped; silently chastising herself, she held her breath awaiting the punishment for disobeying.

The sound of metal chain clinking in the otherwise silent room brought Emily's attention to the nipple clamps linking her to the ground just in time to see the riding crop tangle itself in the chain and yank sharply enough to tug it free. She cried out with the pain that rushed through the sensitive nerves, thrashing slightly against her restraints.

The riding crop traced along her throat, coming to rest under her chin, forcing her to lift her face. “Look at me,” Irene demanded coldly. Emily let her gaze meet her Mistress's eyes for the first time that night as a soft hand brushed the hair away from her sweating forehead. “You stopped counting...” Irene hissed.

“I'm sorry, Mistress,” Emily apologized without looking away as she hadn't been given permission to.

A slap fell sharply across her cheek with an equally pointed insult of, “Stupid bitch.”

If this were a two years ago, she might've felt embarrassed by the fact that _this_ was the kind of thing that got her off, but she had learned along the way to own up to her kinks...at least internally.

“Clearly, you need a little refresher on the rules here...” Irene's glare was nothing short of icy and it cut through Emily like a knife, knowing that she had disappointed her. “Since you can't be bothered to give me the proper attention, I'm going to give you some time alone to think. When I come back, you'd better be ready to beg for my forgiveness. Until then, I don't want to hear a sound out of you.”

The sound of the door slamming signaled the start of her punishment and Emily bit her lip to keep the whimper escaping her lips in disappointment. It had been months since she'd disappointed her Mistress enough to interrupt the session.

By the time her Mistress returned, Emily had no idea how long she'd been left alone – one tended to lose all sense of time when restrained in such a way, preventing finishing off the almost-orgasm just begging for attention. She had spent her punishment marshaling every last bit of composure she possessed (which had required no small amount of self-control, considering the adrenaline thrumming through her body and the wetness still trickling down her thighs) and was determined this time to do everything within her power to please her Mistress.

Irene bent down to hold Emily's head in her hands – still in the dominant position, but now able to meet her gaze directly – and asked frostily, “Are you ready to be a good little bitch?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Tell me what you did to displease me,” Irene commanded.

“I failed to count the strikes my Mistress was kind enough to bestow upon me,” Emily replied, remembering the phrasing her Mistress liked to hear.

 “And why does that displease me?”

The blue eyes boring into Emily's were nothing short of glacial; she was starting to wonder what it was about blue eyes that seemed to make something inside her tingle. “I was given an order and failing to follow it is disrespectful to my Mistress.”

Irene tilted her head to the side slightly. “You don't want to disrespect me, do you?” she cooed, “You want to please me?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Emily husked, the words travelling straight to her cunt.

“You will do better this time?” Emily nodded eagerly, but she didn't have time to respond. “If you disappoint me again, your next punishment shall be truly sadistic, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Irene straightened again, but didn't move away, eyeing her calculatingly. “I think this time, something a little more challenging, hmm?” It wasn't a question, though. “Perhaps I'll treat you to a good caning...I seem to remember last time you found it particularly _enjoyable_.”

Emily let out a little whimper and licked her lips, then watched as her Mistress crossed the room to the impressive assortment of toys displayed on the far wall and thoughtfully inspected them.

The noise brought a small smirk to Irene's features. “Oh, so you'd like that? You're going to have to earn it.” She selected a sturdy rattan cane off the wall and gave it a few experimental swings; Emily bit into her lip, hearing the whistling sound it made with each one. “Last time, you took twelve, but I think this time you'll get seventeen and I want _every last one_ counted.”

Emily inhaled slowly through her nose, holding the breath until her lungs screamed for air, forcing herself to focus on her body. The last time she'd been caned, she hadn't been required to count the number of strikes...and she'd been so deep in subspace by the sixth or seventh that she very much doubted she would've been able to even remember her name if her life depended on it. Maintaining concentration would be no small feat to accomplish.

The cane lightly tapped a silent beat on her ass for a few moments as Irene seemed to decide where to best place the first strike. The skin there was still deeply sanguine from the earlier whipping and prickled not-unpleasantly with pain that hadn't quite fully set in yet.

The cane could be heard cutting the air as it was drawn back and Emily tensed reflexively as the disturbed air whooshed around her, but the blow never landed. “One more thing...” Irene drawled, enjoying the foreplay. “You may not come until you have been given my permission. After all...you did disappoint me.”

Emily's stomach tightened – keeping herself from coming was not one of her strong suits and the fault she was most often punished for. She was still in the middle of processing this latest order when the first blow landed with a fiery blaze that forced her mind blank with the completeness of a light-switch being flicked. “One,” she somehow managed to count, despite the aftershock seeming to sink right down to her bones, not quite as angry, but painful nonetheless.

After four strikes, the pain that seemed to land in nearly perfect parallel stripes down her backside, started to melt into a tolerable ache, followed quickly after by a warm blissful pleasure. By seven strikes, her Mistress had started teasing her, swinging back as if to hit her, then stopping last minute and giving her only a light tap instead. By ten strikes, she was struggling to focus on the movements of her shadow to keep her in the moment and not focusing on the way her entire body seemingly begged her for orgasm.

“You like this, don't you, you little whore?” Irene taunted, “You like being tied down, beaten, and deprived of pleasure?”

The words had her keening softly, back arching as she tossed her head back in ecstasy. Her vision was slowly starting to go fuzzy around the edges which she recognized as the start of subspace and she had no idea how she was going to last.

When the last strike landed, accompanied by a victorious exclaim of “Seventeen!” from Emily, she let all the tension flood out of her body, her legs trembling slightly as her vision solidified a little. Whatever came next, she desperately hoped it didn't require standing independently.

Irene landed a solid smack of her hand on Emily's ass, then gripped the purpling muscles tightly, digging her nails into the flesh. “Perhaps you aren't quite as utterly disappointing as I'd thought...” It was as close to a compliment one could get from her.

Breathing heavily, sweat trickling down the back of her neck, making her hair stick to the naked skin, Emily felt like she'd just run for miles, but with an afterglow much more exquisite than any runner's high. And the surge of pride at her Mistress's words even more so.

Honestly, though, at this point, she was pretty sure she could've been hit with a truck and would've still said thank you – the oncoming subspace had abated before she'd been fully overtaken, but there was no shortage of endorphins flooding her system.

That likely explained the way she all but collapsed to the floor like a new foal when released from the elaborate rigging holding her in place. “I love seeing a powerful woman weak and helpless,” Irene murmured cavalierly, trailing her fingers along Emily's shoulders as she circled her, “I could do absolutely anything right now and you'd happily beg for more like the little bitch you are.”

Irene wrapped her fingers in the collar Emily was wearing and tugged sharply – not enough to strangle her, but enough to get her attention – and Emily promptly kneeled in the proper respectful position instead of the heap of limbs she'd wound up in.

“I wasn't going to reward you because of your embarrassing performance earlier...but you took that caning so well, I've decided that you've earned a little treat.” There was an abrasive sound, followed by the hiss of a match catching light. Irene held the match so close to Emily's face she could feel the heat almost burning the tip of her nose and for reasons she couldn't pinpoint, she held her breath, afraid to accidentally put out the flame.

The two women watched in silence as the flame burned slowly down and Emily started to wonder if she was going to let it burn down to her fingers, but at the last minute, she let it drop to the floor, then smudged it out with the toe of her painfully pointed stilettos.

The smile on her Mistress's face was nothing short of wicked, like sinking your teeth into a piece of cake, seeing the way Emily couldn't seem to take her eye off the flickering light. “I'm going to have so much fun making you scream...”

This time, her wrists were tied to the posts of the shining brass foot-board of the bed that took up most of the far wall, thankfully allowing her to sit more or less comfortably because her legs were still quivering and she didn't hold the least bit of faith in their supportive abilities.

The smell of warming wax nearby was unmistakable, leaving no doubt as to what was next and, though she'd never tried wax play before, the idea was titillating enough to send an anticipatory shiver down her spine. But again, at this point, she would've said yes to almost anything if it pleased her Mistress and brought her closer to earning permission to come.

She watched mesmerized as her Mistress chose a deep red pillar candle off a small shelf, then met her gaze with a quirked brow and a teasing smirk. But instead of dripping the wax on Emily's waiting bare skin, her Mistress let the molten wax dribble down the pale skin of her own forearm.

Irene carefully studied Emily's reaction, the way she couldn't take her eyes off the red river on her forearm, the way she licked her lips, the way she momentarily attempted to reach for her before remembering she was tied down. Toying with her was always such fun...she was the perfect little Sub. “You want to kiss it better?” she asked, amused, peeling the wax off her skin.

Emily nodded eagerly – being permitted to touch her Mistress was the utmost honor. Irene presented her arm in front of Emily's face, a faint pink stain of warmed skin standing out against the delicate white. She eagerly pressed her lips to the soft skin, tenderly kissing over and over, letting her tongue daintily lavish attention on her beautiful Mistress.

Irene let it continue for a minute or two before snapping, “That's enough.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Emily responded respectfully, though she hadn't been prompted, her cheeks flushing.

“Good girl.”

This time the candle selected was a long white taper. She held it several feet above Emily's body stretched out below as she examined her with considering eyes, deciding where best to land the first drop, enjoying the anticipation on Emily's face.

The first drop fell several feet before splattering on the skin of Emily's belly and even though she'd been expecting it, it still surprised her a little. It wasn't nearly as hot as she'd been expecting and far more pleasant and it had her eager for the next drop.

Several more drips followed experimentally, gradually lowering the height until it felt like concentrated drops of a too-warm shower, stinging her skin for an instant before hardening as the heat sunk in and spread pleasantly through her.

The candles in her Mistress's hands slowly changed from the single drops of the tapers to the deep pools of wax of the larger pillar candles. Thus far, the drops had been deliberately placed on her torso, avoiding anything particularly sensitive, but Emily had a feeling that that was about to end, judging by the way her Mistress was eyeing her breasts and grinning mischievously.

This time the wax fell in a large splash over her left breast and she inhaled sharply, “Oh, God, ffff-” she started, but managed to stop the curse from falling at the last moment.

Irene stiffened and gave Emily a warning glare. “What is the rule in my house?”

Emily struggled to catch her breath. “I-I won't disrespect my Mistress by cursing in her presence.”

“Remember it,” Irene snapped, but went back to selecting another candle without further comment or punishment.

Emily sighed in relief. The punishment for that offence was to write out the rule by hand one hundred times and present it to her Mistress the next time she returned and if it wasn't done neatly enough, she was to redo it, this time two hundred times. It was the punishment Emily earned the second-most.

The next rush of wax came in the form of a slowly poured river down the valley between her breasts that curved its way along her ribs before solidifying. After that, it was slow, purposeful drops on her nipples, causing her to writhe because they were still so sensitive from being clamped earlier. Then it was on her thighs, completely surprising her.

Subspace came on in a sudden rush that completely overwhelmed her, making her head swim like the warm floaty feeling brought on by being tipsy but not completely drunk. Emily had experimented with her fair share of mind-altering substances over the course of her life and none of them came close to the high brought on by her Mistress.

What happened next, she seemed to witness rather than actually feel, in a sort of out-of-body experience and it wasn't until her Mistress carefully dribbled a ladle of wax down the crease of her thighs that she came crashing back into her body. The scorching liquid slid down the outer lips of her pussy eliciting a surprising jolt of pleasure.

She couldn't help it this time, crying out, “Fuck, oh God, fuck!” She arched her back, the tendons in her neck stretching and tensing. It didn't even register that she'd broken one of the rules or that she would be punished for it and even if it had registered, she couldn't have begun to care in that moment. For her part, Irene didn't bother to point it out just then.

A single careful drop of wax landed on her clit next and Emily could barely stand it, very nearly sobbing as she begged, “Please...”

“Please what?” Irene nothing short of taunted, nose crinkled in a sneer, “Use your words.”

“I need...” she struggled to string words into a coherent sentence, “Please, I need to come! Please...please let me come!”

“You're not in charge here,” Irene barked, landing another slap on Emily's cheek, “If I want to keep you on the edge all day, I can do that. If I order you not to come until the next time you see me, you will obey. I am the Mistress here and _I_ decide when and _if_ you come.” Her voice never raised and she was all the more intimidating for it.

Emily whimpered and mewled and writhed as Irene now concentrated her efforts on drizzling wax around her pussy, as if testing her. This was proving to be especially enjoyable – Emily had proved thus far to be exceedingly composed, even while taking the most intense of floggings and seeing her so utterly and completely broken was thrilling.

Eventually, Irene took pity on her powerless victim. “Look at me.”

Emily's eyes immediately flew open and shot up to where her Mistress was standing over her, one foot on either side of her quivering thighs.

“Look at yourself...”

Emily obeyed, taking in the sight of her torso painted with hardened wax in a colorful tableau of her pain and ecstasy.

“I've turned you into a work of art,” Irene told her, eyes feasting on Emily's torso heaving with the effort of panting for air. “Perhaps I should chain you up here and let everyone see my masterpiece. Would you like that? Having everyone stare at you like the whore you are, knowing you _begged_ for this?”

“Wh-whatever you want, Mistress,” Emily whispered, desperate to provide the right answer.

Irene laughed humorlessly, then surprised Emily by releasing one of her wrists. “You have two minutes. If you can't come by then, you aren't allowed to touch yourself for three days. Your time starts now.”

Emily wasted no time in plunging three fingers deep inside her cunt, practically shrieking in relief as she did so. She was soaking wet and her juices her running down her fingers and collecting in her palm; she smeared it along her slit, then returned to fucking herself. Her hips rose to meet each thrust of her fingers eagerly. Her thumb found her clit and pressed harshly against it before circling it again and again, causing her pussy to tighten around her fingers.

She wasn't entirely aware of the correct passage of time, but she would've been willing to bet that by the time she was screaming out her pleasure under her Mistress's watchful eye, it was probably the fastest she'd ever brought herself to orgasm.

Her body went slack, one arm still attached to the bed frame, the other still flicking against her wax-covered clit, enjoying the way it sent aftershocks of bliss through her body.

In the hazy period after that, both her mind and body were exceedingly pliable and she happily followed Irene's instructions as she was untied and uncollared and helped to her feet before being gently laid down in the bed.

The session being over, the rules and the power-imbalance no longer applied, and it would be easy to forget that Emily had just paid this woman an exorbitant amount of money to cause her pain and shout obscenities at her. Or, it would be, if it weren't for the fact that one of them wore a leather corset and fishnet tights while the other was completely naked and bruised.

Emily lay sprawled out on the bed, head resting in Irene's lap, absentmindedly picking bits of wax off her skin. Irene draped a blanket over her, then started gently stroking her hair; when she wasn't wearing her dominatrix persona like a shield, she could be surprisingly tender.

“You did so well today, dear,” Irene murmured quietly, the term of endearment always sounded a little strange coming from her. “I was very tough on you and I'm so proud of how well you held up.”

Emily was very much back in her body and increasingly aware of her surroundings, but the words still washed over her and sent a small happy smile to her lips. Sometimes, she would respond with things about the scene that had or hadn't worked for her, but usually, like today, it would be a day or two at least before she was capable of that kind of critical thinking.

A bottle of water was offered to her and she drank greedily, only just then realizing how thirsty she was. She tended to forget just how much an intense session like that could take out of you.

“I always enjoy my time with you,” Irene continued, “You're so much fun to play with – I always know I can challenge you. And you're definitely never boring.”

Emily giggled girlishly at that, a sound that would likely have embarrassed her any other time. “Thank you,” she said once she found herself capable of forming complete sentences, “For that...and for, you know, seeing me. It keeps me from burning out – at work and in general. God, if I'd had this years ago...well...I doubt I'd be here.”

The tender affection involved in the aftercare of their sessions was something Emily enjoyed nearly as much as participating in the scene itself and sometimes it made her wonder if it hadn't been far too long since she'd had a relationship. Of course, then she would have to explain to another person the standing monthly date she had with a dominatrix and likely be judged by said person and she was ready neither to be judged nor to give up this live-saving outlet. So, she tried not to think too much about what any part of this meant and just enjoy it.

Eventually, Emily was sent to take a warm shower and remove what remained of the wax, and was met afterwards with tea and chocolate to sate her quickly dropping blood sugar. The tea was always a steaming cup of something spicy and soothing and the chocolate always luscious and dark, presumably imported from France or Belgium.

Sometimes, Irene would join her for tea, if she didn't have other clients arriving shortly, and the two women would discuss Emily's work or other trivial matters. Sometimes they sipped their tea in silence as Emily's mind processed earlier events and Irene studied her with curious eyes.

When she left, Irene always gave her a warm hug at the door and a promise to see her shortly, accompanied by a smile that held mischief.


End file.
